Leatherhead

Yesterday was kind of strange and depressing. Dave and I went to the funeral for our friend Chris, who with his wife Linda were our neighbors at our previous flat in Notting Hill. We often socialized with them and although Chris had been in poor health for the last few years we were sorry to hear that he died in mid-December.

They live down in Epsom, southwest of London in Surrey -- their Notting Hill flat is more of a pied-a-terre -- and the funeral was in nearby Leatherhead. Dave and I wore our suits to work in the morning and left at noon to make the journey southward.

I don't think I'd been to a funeral for about ten years. The last one I remember attending was for the parent of one of Dave's co-workers in New Jersey, in early 2011. And it had also been quite a while since I'd worn my suit for any reason. I was happy to see it still fit me (not bad for a suit purchased 23 years ago!) but truth be told it is a bit tighter around the waist these days.

Anyway, we got to Leatherhead early by design, and went for a walk in town. We found a little cafe opposite the office building above -- which looks very old but was in reality built about 100 years ago, at least according to the date on the exterior -- and ordered coffee. Dave decided to get a piece of apple pie.

The waiter asked if he wanted ice cream or custard with his pie. "Custard," Dave said.

This is what he got. "Is the pie in there?" Dave asked the waiter, who assured him it was. And indeed he excavated in the lake-o-custard and found a bit of crust, as you can see above. We've never seen pie served quite like that but it was pretty good! (I wonder what would have happened if he'd chosen ice cream?)

The illuminated coils inside some of the cafe's light bulbs spelled out "Love." That's an effect I don't think I've ever seen before. (I made the picture black-and-white to make it more legible.)

Finally we caught an Uber to the crematorium just outside town for the half-hour service. Some of Chris's friends wrote remembrances of his love of red wine and photography, his willingness to talk to anybody, his disdain for politicians and puffery of any kind. He had been a journalist, so he and I had that in common. Some poems were read, including an excellent one by Maya Angelou, but also some all-purpose funereal doggerel that I feel certain Chris would have scoffed at. Afterwards we chatted with Linda for a bit and then began the journey home.

Inside a chapel at the crematorium

Here's one drawback to my wearing a suit: I don't have an overcoat to go with it. Consequently by the time we got home yesterday evening I was chilled to the bone. I should have just worn a sweater underneath the jacket but I didn't think of it. Fortunately some time under a blanket on the couch with the dog, a book and a glass of red wine set me right.